


aura.

by ffomixam



Series: tumblr requests. [47]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Broken Bones, F/M, Fluff, No Dialogue, Self Confidence Issues, Short One Shot, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffomixam/pseuds/ffomixam
Summary: “Hello. Can I request John x F!reader story? He’s got injured while skiing /breaks arm or leg/ and she takes care of him. It’s super hot right now where I live, so I thought ‘Why not something about winter and snow?’ 😄 Btw, love you writing! 😊”





	aura.

1965,

The snow came out from the vast grey skies in a slow dancing movement. You stood on the balcony of your hotel room in northern Sweden. Taking in slow deep breaths; you thought over your predicament that you had landed in. Your boyfriend, John, had taken a hard fall during a skiing trip out in the mountains and had broken his right leg. Unfit to travel; he was stuck in the hotel room until it had probably healed and rested. You were there to take care of him.

You really didn’t mind. You had never been to Sweden and had been excited to see the beautiful landscape but John was more important than some snow and mountains. He needed your help and, darn it, you were going to give it to him.

You re-entered the hotel room to a rather pitiful sight. His broken leg hoisted up high on his own mountain of pillows. He wore a comfortable set of pyjamas (though he slept only in briefs) and thick-framed glasses (that he was finally comfortable enough to wear around you) rested neatly on his nose as he watched the evening news on the square tv at the wall in front of the bed. The crutches he had received laid against his nightstand, mostly unused.

He was confined to the room. A decision of his own. He was well enough to move around with the help of the crutches but dared not go further than to the bathroom for the fear of people seeing him in what he thought was a miserable state. He didn’t want to be seen like this by the band or the fans. And certainly not those reporters and photographers that always buzzed around the two of you like flies to shit whenever you stepped outside a door.

And you didn’t mind not going anywhere. As long as you were him; it didn’t matter. Liverpool, London or Åre. No cities or landscape could be exciting or exotic enough.

You sat next to him on the left side of the bed (your side) and immediately felt his eyes on you. 

He blamed himself. He felt he had robbed you of a well-deserved vacation and despised himself for it. Hated himself for being a blasted git and not wearing his sodding glasses when going skiing. Concerts and just walking about was fine. Skiing, it turned out to be, was not. 

He rested his hand lightly on yours and sighed. Your eyes met and he looked so incredibly distraught. He muttered a sorry; not the first or the last. You gently squeezed his hand with a small shake of your head. You felt the apologies were unfounded, neither needed or wanted. You appreciated it but he shouldn’t feel sorry about breaking his damn leg. It wasn’t like it was something he chose to do.

You kissed his cheek and rested your head on his strong shoulder as you both silently watch the television switch from the British news to the week’s movie. It was one of the romantic kind and you felt a slight squeeze on your still intertwined hands as the opening melody of the movie started to soar through the room.


End file.
